Limp
by pheromones
Summary: "Romeo couldn't live without his Juliet, Sid couldn't live without his Nancy, and Tate Langdon certainly couldn't live without his Violet Harmon."
1. EINS

**She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak**  
><strong>I've been locked inside your Heart Shaped box for weeks<strong>  
><strong>I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap<strong>  
><strong>I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black<strong>

**Nirvana, "Heart Shaped Box"**

Something wasn't right.

The music had stopped from Violet's room, and Tate hadn't heard a sound since it had ceased. There were many explanations for the silence, of course. Violet could be reading one of those Japanese comic books she has lying around. Tate had picked up one of them and flipped through it during one of his many visits his girlfriend's room while she was out of the house. It was about some whacked out Japanese town that was plagued by spiral patterns, real macabre and campy shit. Definitely up his alley. The only problem was apparently you had to read it backwards instead of like a regular comic book. Tate had already read the ending before he realized it.

Or maybe she was just smoking a cigarette in bed, which was certainly plausible. There was always the faint smell of Marlboros underneath the scent of tea and lavender perfume that clouded Violet's room. She had a peculiar way of smoking where she'd blow the smoke from her nose and mouth simultaneously, like an angry bull. Other times she puffed out little rings like the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. Whatever way she smoked the cancer sticks, Violet had a sensuous way of smoking that made Tate's pants tighten whenever he thought of how her little pink lips wrapped around the filter.

Tate shook the arousing thought from his head, quickly moving to lie back down on the all too familiar couch in Dr. Harmon's office. He rested his beaten up Converse on the sofa arm, and stared at them as he continued to brain storm. Maybe she was doing her homework? But that was unlikely, as Tate often heard the sound of her pacing about her room as an effort to procrastinate whatever studying she had to do. Not to mention she liked to have music playing to make PreCalc a little easier to bear. A delicious thought suddenly entered the boy's mind.

Violet, lying in the sea of her unmade bed covers, hair sprawled out like a Renaissance halo, her hand down the front of her pants, breathing heavily between strokes of her fingers. The thought enough made Tate hot with lust. This day dream wasn't uncommon. He often imagined how Violet would touch herself whenever he watched over her sleeping form. Tate wanted to be the sheets Violate dirtied, feel the warmth of her skin and the hot, airy sighs as the coil in the pit of her stomach became unbearably tight. He wanted to feel how slick she was, press his fingers into her virgin opening and kiss her blushing cheeks.

Tate remembered how close he came on Halloween. Oh how badly he wanted to let Violet continue to unbuckle his pants, his hardness was so restricted in the confines of his jeans. But it wasn't how he wanted it. He wanted things to be perfect, like how he told Dr. Harmon. Most of all he wanted to make sure Violet loved him, actually loved him with not just her body but with her heart. Those three words had never been uttered between the two, and it was only half an hour ago that he had written the life changing sentence on Violet's chalk board in hopes that he could make her see his true feelings without the threat of outright rejection flung at his face.

Tate gave his crotch a quick palming before things got too out of hand. He was already on thin ice with the Doctor, and whacking off on his couch to the thought of his daughter touching her soaked cunt was surely the last thing he ought to do to stay in Dr. Harmon's favor. Jizz stains had a funny way of never going away.

Tate's aroused nerves dulled as he thought about Violet's cold behavior since Halloween. Something had changed. He could see it in the way she walked about the house with eyes full of uncertainty, like a little child lost at the supermarket. She had avoided the basement since then, their usual spot to sit about, talk, kiss, and compare scars. At first he thought it was merely her 'time of the month', but he hadn't seen any feminine products in the bathroom during his last session with her father. Seeing as Vivien was pregnant, Violet would be the only one capable of menstruating, but clearly that wasn't the case. Tate had tried numerous times to talk to her, but she seemed occupied, as if her mind was a swarm of disrupted bees flying about in confusion. Tate got the message, but after a day turned to a week he grew concerned, which was why he decided to set up the romantic setting in Violet's room, intending to surprise. He was taken by surprise when he heard Violet come home so early, as she usually didn't come home until later, so he had rushed to set things up. But the music had stopped ten minutes ago, indicating someone had turned it off. And again, not a sound was heard since. Tate had seen Vivien leave an hour ago, and from what he heard from her talking on the phone, was that she wouldn't be back until later that night. Surely it wasn't her. It could have been Addie, but Tate could always hear her giggling or singing rhymes to herself whenever she broke into the Harmon house.

It had to be Violet. Tate decided to wait for Violet to come and find him in her father's office, with smiles and sarcastic jabs, but he was still waiting. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Something was wrong. Tate could feel it in his gut. So he rolled himself off the couch and strolled down the hall, wary and cautious of the sudden aura of stillness within the usually active house.

Then, he broke out into a run, panicking. The hallway felt as if it stretched on forever and every step drew Tate farther and farther from his destination, mocking him with its illusion.

After what seemed like hours, Tate threw open the door to Violet's room.

There was his love lying curled up in bed, still as death, not a twitch or a groan in response; just still and silent.

"Vi-Violet." Tate drew nearer to the foot of her bed with nervous steps. His guts were screaming at him like the squeals of pigs headed for the slaughter house. There was nothing but the white noise of silence in his ears, what you hear when you're locked in a dark, silent room with your hands boxed around your ears.

When Tate took a final step forward, that's when he saw the pill bottle, empty and laughing at him. Empty, with not a pill left for her fair lover to join her in the darkness. A wave of adrenaline washed over him, filling his lungs and turning his brain into a soggy side dish. He felt sick. He wanted to throw up. But all he could do was scream Violet's name in anguish.

Tate rushed forward to Violet, and rolled her over from her side. She was limp, so limp.

"NO, NO, NO. VIOLET! VIOLET? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" He shook her, but Violet's head only lolled about her shoulders in response, a barely alive living rag doll.

He searched frantically for a sign of life as his body shook with cries. He lifted Violet's face to his, desperate to feel her breath on his cheek. But there was nothing, nothing but the feeling of his own tears flowing down his face.

"VIOLET DON'T BE DEAD! I CAN'T LOSE YOU LIKE THIS!" He pressed the tips of his fingers to her jugular. A pulse! But it was faint, like a tiny star about to die and fade away forever.

Tate dragged Violet off the bed by the underarms, as she was nothing but dead, limp weight that would be easier to drag than carry. Her legs hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud and he switched to holding his girlfriend by her right arm.

"STAY WITH ME VIOLET!"

Tate knew he had to get her conscious and quick. Tate remembered that scene in Pulp Fiction, where John Travolta brings a nearly dead, heroin overdosed Uma Thurman to Eric Stoltz's house and gives her a shot of adrenaline to the heart. Life was now imitating fiction. Too bad Tate had no fucking idea where he could get a dose of epinephrine to stab through Violet's chest. He'd have to get her to throw up all the pills she swallowed, opting for a wake-up call courtesy of a cold shower and his fingers thrusting down her throat.

He wasn't going to let the only girl he ever loved die in his arms. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

He dragged Violet out the bedroom door, his body wracked with screaming sobs. He ran down the hall as fast as he could backwards while dragging the sad, dead weight.

"DON'T YOU DIE ON ME VIOLET! NO! DON'T YOU DIE!"

As he dragged her through the bathroom door and onto the tiles, Tate choked on his sobs. Memories of Violet played through his head in a funeral montage.

He thought of the first time he saw her, how she dragged the razor blade across the skin of her arm and watched the blood drip onto the porcelain sink. He thought of how she smiled at him when he cradled that arm in his hands as they sat in her room listening to the sounds of fuzzy guitars and weepy voices. He thought of how he chopped a bitch in half for her. He thought of the first time his lips finally met with hers, how soft they were against his dried, chapped pair. He thought of Halloween night, on the beach, lips caressing and eyes on fire, how badly he wanted to take her then and there and how hard it was to restrain himself. He thought of how she laughed, how she smiled, how she walked, and how lovely she always looked.

He thought of how that was all going away in an instant as he lifted her up and into the tub against his chest.

"DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!"

Things weren't supposed to happen like this. Tate was supposed to be holding her, caressing her, peppering her face with kisses, making love to her. They were supposed to be together in each others arms, cuddling and kissing and touching and so unbearably happy.

He couldn't love her like that if she were dead. As he sank into the tub with Violet still heavy and limp on his lap, he reached for the cold water knob, cranking it all the way to the right.

"VIOLET!"

The spray of ice cold water hit him as he moved to jam his fingers down her throat. He thrust two fingers into her mouth and moved them about to hit her uvula. He was going to lose her unless she threw up.

'Come on baby. Come on. Without you I'm nothing.'

Romeo couldn't live without his Juliet, Sid couldn't live without his Nancy, and Tate Langdon certainly couldn't live without his Violet Harmon.

There was a gagging sound and he felt Violet's throat contract around his fingers before she violently coughed up the vomit mixed of bile and pills. Tate cried in relief and removed his hand from her mouth, as his other hand cupped her shoulder to support her swaying frame.

He felt Violet go still with shock, bewildered as she realized she was under the rain of a cold shower after downing entire bottle of probably stolen prescription pills.

He turned her face to his, desperate to see her look at him again. Her beautiful eyes went wide like a spooked doe, questioning the reality of the situation. He caressed her cold, wet cheek, muttering a sob as if to tell her 'I'm here and I'm not going to leave you'. Violet's face crumbled in a heavy sob as everything overwhelmed her in a flood of emotion.

For a moment her soul had actually left her body. Sure, she had wanted to die at first, but once things faded to black she started to scream, for the grave mistake she made was irreversible in her hands.

And there was Tate. Oh Tate Langdon, the living dead boy who had gunned down fifteen of his classmates seventeen years ago, only to be gunned down himself in his own home. The monster of Westfield High was currently soaked to the bone, holding her with undeniable gentleness, and crying in anguish as he brushed a chunk of wet blonde hair off her face. Poe wouldn't have even been able to concoct such a fucked up fantasy. The line of reality and gut wrenching fiction had merged, and it made Violet's head spin. In the end she merely shook and collapsed against his chest with anxiety driven breaths.

And Tate held her close under the spray of frigid bath water, never wanting to let go in case she try to die on him again. He brought her head to his face, kissing her ear and wet hair for all the goodness in the world.

"It's okay." 'I'm here.'

Tate continued to hold Violet as she sobbed under the steady stream of the cold shower. There were little words between them, aside from a term of endearment from Tate's lips. They stayed huddled close together in the bathtub until Tate felt Violet shiver against him.


	2. ZWEI

**Forget the horror here**  
><strong>Forget the horror here<strong>  
><strong>Leave it all down here<strong>  
><strong>It's future rust and its future dust<strong>  
><strong>Choir of furies in your head<strong>  
><strong>Choir of furies in your bed<strong>  
><strong>I'm the ghost in the back of your head<strong>

**Foals, 'Spanish Sahara'**

Tate stared at the picture on Dr. Harmon's desk.

Violet looked so full of life, as she was in mid laugh when the picture was taken, her mouth open and lips curled over her teeth.

Ben and Vivien looked happy too he supposed. The picture must have been over a year old, before all the infidelity came to light and everyone became fucking miserable. Mom and Dad were still loving husband and wife, posing with their daughter as if she were their prize winning over-sized pumpkin.

Funny how quickly life turns to dog shit.

It's a sick and twisted world and no one stands a chance apart from each other.

It was midday. Tate found himself back in Dr. Harmon's office, minus the doctor, who was apparently banned from his own home. For someone who tries to fix the lives of other people he sure as hell can't seem to fix his own. What a shame. Sucks 'cause Tate sure could use his shrink right now.

He didn't sleep last night. His mind wouldn't let him. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, all he saw was Violet, limp as a soggy Raggedy Ann doll curled up beside an empty bottle of pills.

He didn't want to leave her since then, but Violet was stiff against him as they lay together in her bed after spending far too long under the spray of shower water only penguins would find appealing.

All she did was cry. She just kept crying no matter how much Tate kissed her, how close he held her to his wet sweater clad chest, or how many comforting phrases he whispered into her ear. Violet said nothing to him, staying rigid and unsure in his arms until she had succeeded in crying herself to sleep.

Tate didn't want to part from her side, he really didn't. He was terrified Violet would vanish if he took his eyes of her for even a moment. But it was clear she had constructed a thick, concrete wall of solitude around herself.

She had changed. She was a stranger. He wanted his Violet back, the Violet who wore peculiar hats, who smoked like a caterpillar, and who made snarky remarks. The sleeping figure in his arms who was stiff as a board against him wasn't the girl he knew. Rather, she was a cold, unsure creature made in Violet's image. It had been like that as soon as Tate had taken her out of the bathroom, cold and wet, wrapped in a big fluffy towel, and carried bridal style back to her bedroom. When she looked up at him as he picked her up to his chest, it seemed as if she was trying to put a name to his face, like she wasn't sure if she knew him or not.

It scared the fuck out of Tate as he realized the catalyst to Violet's odd behavior was HIM.

Tate stood in the middle of the office, no longer wearing the damp clothes from the night before, debating upon how he would approach such a fragile situation.

Violet hadn't come out of her room yet. He began to worry again. Sure, he had managed to save Violet from killing herself but he still hadn't managed to save her from the cruel metamorphosis that had turned her into a distant stranger.

He needed to see her right away. He needed to fix whatever he had done to fuck it up.

Tate turned his back on the family photo he had been admiring and walked out the door of Dr. Harmon's office. He soon found himself in front of Violet's bedroom door, able to sense the subtle movements of life behind it. Good, at least Violet hadn't tried to off herself again. He placed his hand on the door knob and debated whether he should confront her in such a manner.

How was he going to do this?

One wrong move would mean the end of their relationship.

The only thing that came to Tate's mind was the truth.

He was in love. He loved Violet like nothing else in the world. He'd kill for her, which he already managed to prove by chopping that intruder bitch up Black Dalia style. He would never allow for anything to hurt her, his dear Violet Harmon. He would give or do anything to make her happy.

And if that meant he had to go away and never see her again, then so be it. But he wasn't going to do that before he had the chance to look into her eyes and tell her everything he meant to her; to say 'I love you' and not just scrawl it on a chalkboard. Tate needed to know what Violet thought or he would drive himself mad with more of his sick, twisted fantasies.

'I want to be a good person.'

A turn of the door knob was the only challenge in the way of vindication; he just needed to get his frozen hand to twist.

Tate finally got the message to the appendage and opened the door as quietly as he could. He managed not make even a single sound as he stepped into the room, the smells of Marlboros, tea, and lavender swaddling his head and paralyzing his senses for but a moment,

Violet was sitting up in her unmade bed, her head resting upon her hand. She had changed into a pair of jade green yoga capris at some point in the day, and they hugged the curves of her legs quite snuggly. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, slightly messy and tousled from sleeping in on this fine Saturday.

She was flipping through a book. Each page she turned revealed a picture of a different bird with a descriptive paragraph. The book was clearly about birds and it looked somewhat familiar to Tate, but he couldn't put his finger on where he had seen it before.

Violet delicately flipped to the end of the book where the hardcover shielded the back. With small fingers, she gently removed a book slip from its pocket. She gave the card a look of intrigue, her brows furrowing as she read down the list of signatures from people who had taken the book out before her. Who else had checked it out, wanting to cure their fascination with birds? Tate held a childlike fascination to birds. They were free creatures, and their freedom was what he wanted. He took this as his starting point and revived the use of his vocal chords.

"I like birds too." It came out like a whisper, it sounded childish and sleeve-tugging matter-of-factly.

Violet looked up with some hesitation, unsurprised to find Tate standing by the foot of her bed, although the fact that he chose to reveal his presence as soon as she read his signature off the book slip did make her heart thump against her ribcage.

He looked like hell. His eyes were red and puffy and his face was a sallow color, sure signs of exhaustion. All the more, he still looked handsome. However, his edge had disappeared. In its place, he gave off a meek demeanor, if meekness was a possible adjective to describe spooky dead-ghost-ghoul-whatever kids.

"Why do you like them?"

It was the only thing she could think to say. Let's talk about birds, birds and you, Tate Langdon. What ties you to them? Why did you take this book out of the library you later shot up seventeen years ago? Do psychos want to learn about birds? Dylan Klebold surely didn't have a hobby of stamp collecting. Eric Harris probably didn't take books out on shipwrecks.

"'Cause they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess."

A moment of silence hung between them. The climax of their relationship was nigh, and their future depended solely on this moment. The ball was in Tate's court, and it all came down to whether Violet would serve it back to him.

Tate shoved his hands further into the pockets of his pants. "Are you gonna tell your parents?"

Violet glanced about before looking back at Tate.

"About the pills?"

She shook her head, looking back down at Tate's signature from 1993. "No. I've been sleeping a lot. They think I'm depressed."

"Are you?"

Violet had barely gotten it out before Tate had asked. Was she depressed? Could you be depressed over the fact that the boy you love went on a shooting rampage nearly twenty years ago? Oh and said boy has been dead for just about that long and seems to enjoy haunting you?

"I'm sad."

Tate stared at her with those black eyes of his. His Adam 's apple bobbed along the skin of his white throat. "Me too."

Violet looked back at him. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and that worried her. Tate had been complicated to decipher before, but all these new revelations made it even more difficult to figure things out. Was he mad? She woke up alone that morning and really didn't know what to think. She felt empty and incomplete. She knew the only thing that could possibly fix that vacant place in hear heart was Tate, be he alive or dead. As long as she could touch him it wouldn't be too hard. Too bad she hadn't told him that before he had left her. She wanted to apologize, thank him for saving her life, anything. But her tongue was dead in her mouth.

"Violet?"

She looked back up at him. He was trying to say something; something important that it seemed he had couldn't keep to himself anymore. Violet went stiff again for a moment, bracing herself for a scolding, a threat, a breakdown, whatever.

Instead, Tate looked like he was about to cry.

The words flooded from Tate's mouth before he realized it was moving. "Something's changed in you," He took a deep breath to keep himself from crying. "Towards me."

Violet's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't show it. She just stayed still and listened.

"You're distant. Cold." Tate's heart began to beat faster and faster. His mouth felt cotton dry and his lips felt numb. "I don't know what I've done, but I'll leave you alone from now on if that's what you want."

He didn't want to tell Violet that was an option and his eyes began to water even more. "Is that what you want?"

She only blinked rapidly in response.

"Do you know why I would leave you alone? Because I care about your feelings more than mine."

Tate had only one more step he needed to take, but it felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff.

"I love you," Tate's fists clenched in his pockets. "There, I said it! Not just on some chalkboard."

Silence. Limp silence. Tate sniffled as the silence became suffocating. He wasn't finished and he was going to get it out before the silence clenched around his throat as well.

"I would never let anybody or anything hurt you. I've never felt that way about anyone."

Violet looked down, taking it all in. So many feelings flooded in at once: relief, love, shock. They all grasped Violet by the neck and held her there. What should she do? She was in love with a dead kid who murdered fifteen people for fuck's sake. Cosmopolitan didn't describe what to do in this type of situation. 'Hey Cosmo, A ghost who pulled a Columbine seventeen years ago just confessed his love for me. What do I do?'

She looked back up at Tate. Violet then remembered emerging from the blackness of death in Tate's arms, his fingers thrust down her throat, crying as she regurgitated all those fucking pills. He held her close and kissed her under the rain of frigid water with such gentleness. Constance said Tate didn't know he was D-E-A-D. She said the house made him go crazy and shoot all those kids. Normally she wouldn't believe a single lick of what the nosy neighbor said. However, the plaque, the various websites dedicated to the massacre, and the paralyzed librarian weren't a part of some sick old lady joke. Violet had seen things she couldn't explain. He was so sure of himself when he said he didn't recognize the dead Breakfast Club (Maybe she should refrain from calling them that, seeing as they weren't costumed kids looking for a scare on Halloween night.) Violet knew a liar. Tate wasn't lying.

It was so utterly fucked up.

But in the end, she loved him too. That at least she was sure of.

"Come here."

Tate looked on as Violet sat up straight and moved over, indicating for him to join her on the bed. It may not have been an 'I love you too' quite yet, but at least it confirmed that she wanted him in her life. That was more than he could ask for.

Tate climbed over the iron frame at the end of her bed and crawled onto the mattress to join Violet in her unmade sheets. He was so tired, oh so tired. He couldn't stop himself from collapsing onto his side.

Violet moved over to snuggle him, threading her right arm through Tate's to hold him close. He pulled her small hand to his chest as she fit himself against his back.

"I'm tired."

"Me too."

They both fell asleep within a matter of minutes.


	3. DREI

**Violate all the love that I'm missing**  
><strong>Throw away all the pain that I'm living<strong>  
><strong>You will believe in me<strong>  
><strong>And I can never be ignored<strong>

**Garbage, '#1 Crush'**

What a delicious treat.

"T-t-tate…Unghhh."

Tate watched little Violet Harmon purr for him like a little kitten as she played with her wet pussy beneath her tight cotton panties. Her cherubic face was frozen in ecstasy, eyes closed tights and mouth open for deep gaping breaths and heavy sighs. That blonde hair he loved to run his fingers through was spread around her in a golden halo, a holy sight for his hungry eyes.

Tate's eyes traveled down from her face, past her small, perky breasts (Oh how he couldn't wait to suckle them), along the twisting muscles of her stomach, and to where her right hand was busy pleasuring its owner. She was frantic in how she moved that hand, though those damn underpants concealed what he wanted most. He couldn't tell how she was touching herself. Was she rubbing at her clit with the tips of those soft fingers? Or was she fingering herself? His cock could care less or course, all it cared about was how nicely that wet spot had formed itself in the fabric of those floral boyshort panties.

"Look at me Violet. Can you look at me while you touch cunt?"

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at Tate from under her eyelashes, pupils dilated from the insatiable desire and need.

He palmed at his twitching cock, which begged desperately to be released from the confines of his pants and into that warm, wet heat he wanted so badly to touch, lick, and pound into. But she was still a virgin. His dick would surely rip her hymen and she would bleed and cry. While the idea was definitely appealing, he couldn't bear the thought of making his love feel any sort of pain.

"Fuck Violet, I can smell you." It was a tangy, sweet smell coming from her cunt and it was absolutely intoxicating. And the way her hips bucked up and down only spread the smell to his nostrils even quicker.

Tate slid forward on his stomach until his head rested itself between Violet's open legs. Best seat in the house. The smell was even more powerful up close. He glanced back up at Violet, still looking at him with half-lidded bedroom eyes.

"I'm…Ahh…Go-nna…C-cum…"

Tate kissed the inside of her creamy thigh, giving it a quick nip and brush with his tongue before nuzzling her hot skin. "Cum for me. Cum for me and I'll lick it up."

Violet screamed-

Tate woke up with a start.

Fuck. Shit, fuck, Jesus Christ with an anal probe, another fucking dream, wonderfully interrupted before it could reach the best part.

Then he remembered the warmth clinging to his back and the soft hand he was holding. Violet, his sweet Violet, was still sleeping soundly and hugging him close. He smiled to himself, seeing her beautiful face so peaceful and lovely as she breathed softly through petal soft parted lips.

Then he remembered his not-so-little problem straining against his boxers. It could be worse though, it could've been an actual wet dream complete with a load of jizz in his pants. The last thing Tate wanted to do was leave Violet's side in order to put on a clean pair of boxers. But whether he came or not, there was no way he could let Violet wake up and see he had a raging hard on.

Think of boner depleting thoughts Tate, think of boner depleting thoughts.

'Fuck, uh. Blood, NO! Shit that made it worse…Constance. Ok, better. Dr. Harmon cheating on his pregnant wife. Moira's glass eye. Constance's cooking…'

"Tate?"

He froze as he felt Violet rustle against him. He looked back down at his crotch. The tent has deflated, oh good. That was a close call. Embarrassment avoided and now we're moving on.

He turns over on his side so he can face her. Violet rubs her eye with her little fist, stifling a yawn with the other. She's cute when she wakes up.

"Hey," He gives her a quick peck where the corner of her mouth meets her cheek and lies back down. "What time is it?"

Violet rolls over toward the nightstand for her cell phone, giving Tate quite a nice view of her ass in those tight yoga pants. Does she even do yoga? Wonder how flexible she is?

A quick look at the screen and she descends back down to lay her head on Tate's shoulder. "A little after 6, so we've got five and whatever hours of sleep I guess. Good because you looked like you needed it." She fists her hands out of her cardigan so she can hold Tate's hand again. It's warm and big when entwined with her little Baby Gap hands and she likes that.

"I didn't get much sleep last night," Tate nuzzles the top of Violet's head, and he notices how nice her hair smells, like bananas and coconuts. "I was scared you would vanish."

Violet looked up at him, seeing his eyes move away from her to hide sadness.

"I was pretty bummed out when I woke and you weren't there if you want some irony to that statement." That was true. Well, she was both bummed and freaked out over whether last night had been some terrible nightmare. The latter was confirmed false when she saw the empty pill bottle Leah had given her on the floor, rolled next to her nightstand. After realizing her clothes smelled like mildew from being slept in while wet, she went and took an actual shower with skin blistering hot water that she mostly just stood in and contemplated what the fuck she was going to do about the whole Tate-is-dead-and-he-stopped-me-from-killing-myself thing. That thought alone reminded her of something she should have said a long time ago.

"Thank you."

Tate leaned in to kiss her forehead. He didn't need her to clarify what she meant, he knew all too well.

"Hey Tate?"

"Yeah?"

She sucks in a breath. She wants a cigarette because the prospect of what was on the tip of her tongue made her nerves jitter like crazy. "I love you…" Boy she wants a fucking cigarette or something in her mouth. Ugh, this is too much like a sappy romantic comedy and it makes her want to puke again.

But her heart steadies and warms as Tate presses his cheek to hers, warm skin against warm skin. Ghosts blush apparently, who knew? Tate moves his other arm to wrap around Violet's waist and draw her closer so he can plant kisses on the taut skin of her neck. Normally such lovey-dovey, mushy behavior would have Violet crawling out of bed to go raid the fridge or something equally as mood killing, but she likes it, for now at least. His lips are still chapped from being licked and bitten and sucked and it makes her collarbone breakout in goosebumps. When he's satisfied with the job he's done of taming his shrew he moves the both of them to sit up against the pile of pillows on her bed. Violet doesn't understand the use of more than two pillows, or even one for that matter. Vivien was the one who put her room together when they moved in and she insisted her bed look nice. She didn't like how it ended up looking like a fucking Ikea display room but whatever.

Oh yeah, Vivien still inhabited the house. Violet panicked as she realized her pregnant mother was probably in the other room and could walk in on the two of them any moment, as Tate was starting to play with the waistband on her pants.

He seemed to be able to read what she was thinking, as he stopped and whispered in her ear. "Saw Vivien leave, she won't be home until late tonight." Violet was all to himself. And now that the love between the two of them had finally been confirmed, she was truly his to violate.

Tate had the same look on his face as he had when he sat in the rocking chair in the basement to scare Leah like the dead corpse of Norman Bates' mother in Psycho. It was mischievous, thinking dirty thoughts, eyebrow waggling. Violet had realized that Tate had two distinct personalities sometime ago, not multiple personalities per say, but two different personas he could act upon both independently and merged together.

She liked to call them Tate A and Tate B. Tate A was the Tate who found pleasure in watching Leah writhe on the basement floor in fear as that…thing clawed at her face. That was the Tate who talked about how the world was sick place full of fucked up people, looked at blood with an aroused sense of pleasure, and gave off the feeling that he wanted to eat Violet alive. Tate A wanted to bend Violet over Dr. Harmon's desk and fuck her silly until she couldn't walk. Tate A was psychotic and driven by basic human pleasures.

Then there was Tate B. Tate B was the Tate who gave Violet black roses, abstained from sex on the beach, and listened to Morrisey with her. Tate B handled Violet with delicate care like a newborn and left 'I Love You' scrawled on her chalkboard. This Tate was full of childlike affection and morals, unlike the other half, who wanted to 'make love' to Violet rather than 'fuck' her. Of course, both Tate A and B interacted with each other at times. When Violet was in danger, both Tates moved to come to her rescue, but the danger influenced which Tate would be the one to do it. Crazy cult kids have broken into the Harmon home and want to drown Violet in the bathtub? Tate A is on it and going axe crazy. Violet had overdosed on prescription pills? Tate B is there to drag her to the bathtub and make her throw up. Tate A was the Id, Tate B was the Super-ego, and whatever force decided which one would have control of Tate's body was the Ego. Tate A was all about sex and violence while Tate B was all about love and justice.

At the current moment, it wasn't hard to tell which Tate was doing what. Violet had woken up to Tate B who was now busying himself with her lips against his. At some point after Violet managed to get the L-word out, Tate A wandered onto the scene and now was tapping his fingers against her jutting hipbone, threatening to rip her pants off and take her right there. For the most part, Tate B was still in control, but Tate A was getting tired of waiting.

One thing Violet didn't want to think about was if Tate A was the one who went on a rampage and slaughtered all those kids. That and which Tate was more susceptible to her house that apparently eats the people who die in it.

For the moment Violet just cleared her mind and let her teen heartbeat take over. Tate's hand had slipped itself under her baggy shirt and the fingers were giving her stomach feather light, teasing touches that tickled and tormented. Her bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth, nibbled, and released with a snap before diving back in all tongue, teeth, and raging hormones. The Tates had switched places, as apparently they caught onto Violet's train of thought. What dicks.

Tate was making little moaning noises of need into her mouth and that hand was beginning to travel up to the under-wire of her bra. The fingers tapped a rhythm where chest was about swell into breast, and it was driving Violet crazy.

Suddenly, tongue and teeth disappeared and the hand stopped what it was doing. Tate B took the reins back and fingered a piece of Violet's hair between his thumb and pointer. She wanted to kick him off the bed for stopping but the 'I'm trying to do the right thing' look in his eyes made her relinquish the idea.

"Hey Violet?"

He was still somewhat breathless from kissing and it made his voice come out quiet and soft, like he was talking to a kitten. The fingers playing with her hair became a hand that combed against Violet's scalp, the thumb rubbing a circle into her temple.

When he was sure that she was listening he spoke up again. "Do you want to know why I stopped you while we were on the beach?"

Good question, actually. Violet knew the whole 'It's those pills your Dad gave me' excuse was a bunch of bull, as his body was reacting to her ministration. At the time it seemed that Tate A was pretty in control, she even felt his hardness when she had reached down and attempted to unbuckle his pants. There were many reasons Tate B decided to cock-block what was about to be the best beach trip ever but Violet wanted to know which one he had acted upon. She just hoped something wasn't wrong with his ghost junk, like if it were a rotting mess or even worse, uncircumcised. At least she knew the dead could still get it up, which was technically necrophilia but Tate was the most alive appearing dead person she ever met. And he didn't even know he was dead.

Tate leaned in closer to Violet's face so that he could look into her eyes more intensely. "I needed to be sure that you loved me first."

That was definitely Tate B. Good, sweet, kind Tate B. What a gentlemanly answer, worthy of marrying one could say. Thank God it wasn't 'I have smelly jizz' or 'There's sand in my asshole' or God forbid, 'I think my big dick is decaying'.

Violet rolled her eyes. God this Tate really made it hard to stay horny. Of course the premise was sweet but she just wanted him to start grabbing at her tits. "That's nice but I would love you even more if you get back to what you were doing before I decide I want to go and throw rocks at cars."

The mischievous gleam returned to his black eyes and leaned back in to steal another aggressive, bruising kiss from her lips. The phantom hand returned under her shirt and started to slip its fingers under the underwire of her bra. His nails scraped gently across the sensitive skin before retracting once again. Violet was about to tell him "What the fuck man?" but it became clear what he wanted when he sat back up and began to bunch up the material of her shirt in his fist so that he could pull it over her head. She sat up to make it easier for him to remove the offending article of clothing, which he tossed to the end of the bed for convenience.

Tate pushed her back down onto the pile of pillows and took a moment to admire her bare stomach and collar bone. She had such beautiful white skin, so pale that any marks he would leave would surely be noticeable for more than a week. Hands grasped her hips, holding them down to keep her right where he wanted. He dove in to kiss the hollow of her stomach, relishing in the shiver and puff of breath Violet gave him. So she was sensitive here? Tate looked up at Violet, who was blushing with his eyebrows knitted together, gave her a shit eating smirk and stuck the tip of his tongue out to lick up to the middle of her bra.

The hard grip he had on her hips prevented her from bucking up into him and it was a real butthole move on his part. She wanted friction, but he was pushing her down into the mattress and busying himself with tracing patterns on the skin between her breasts with that devious tongue of his. Thumbs began to knead the skin stretched over her hipbones and make little bruises as they pressed harder and harder. Teeth took a hold of her right bra strap and pulled down her shoulder then treating the other strap to the same maneuver. Tate kept his eyes on Violet the entire time and it made her burn between her legs.

He replaced the grip of his hands with the straddling of his hips over hers and moved to pull Violet's bra down and away from those small tits. She was an A-cup, but the kind of A-cup that liked to parade down a runway under a sheer top and played peek-a-boo from under halter tops in art house films. Just as he imagined them, pink, perky nipples straining against the small mounds of pale skin. Tate's mouth watered as he ran a thumb over one, feeling its hardness and hearing Violet release a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

She tried so hard not to scream when he pulled a nipple into his mouth, but she ended up squeaking anyways. Her hands shot into his hair, baby soft and such a lovely shade of blonde. He was tugging her nipple with his teeth and then watching with fascination as it snapped back onto her chest when he released it. The saliva he used to coat the pink nub made it sensitive to the hot breaths he blew onto it. She was going to go stark raving mad.

Tate moved to the other breast to give it the same Langdon Special treatment when the sound of the glass shattering and the security alarm wailing made them freeze with fear. Tate sat back up and Violet reached to grab at her breasts, nervous someone was about to barge in on her topless with a boy.

"I think someone is trying to break in…"

And there went the moment, going, going, gone. No more skin against skin, no more lips to breasts, no more teasing touches. Thanks juvenile delinquency for ruining such a nice first sexual encounter.

Tate looked back at Violet, said 'Sorry' with his eyes and handed her back her shirt. They could finish it up later but for now the broken window was in need of immediate attention.

He rolled off the bed and watched Violet pull her bra back up and put her shit back on. All the while she huffed in irritation at such a cliché mood breaker. Seriously, how often does that happen outside of shitty movies?

"I guess we'll have to go and see who's got a stick up their ass about this house now…" She joined Tate to go off and investigate the disturbance, once again somewhat spooked as she was reminded of the certain 'quirks' her home held. Cool, ghosts were breaking windows now, how is this going to go over explaining to the insurance company.

Tate and Violet sure enough found the window in the front hall shattered to pieces, her mother's dog yipping at it while dancing on his hind legs. Throwing bricks through people's windows was a fad she though had gone out of style with the end of the Civil Rights movement, but apparently someone didn't get the memo.


	4. VIER

**Loneliness, is such a sad affair  
>And I can hardly wait<br>To be with you again  
>What to say<br>To make you come again  
>Come back to me again<br>And play your sad guitar**

**Sonic Youth (Covering The Carpenters), 'Superstar'**

Tate pulled another vanishing act.

One second he was there helping Violet sweep up the shards of broken glass from the floor, smiling and suggesting they watch a movie together, and then as soon as Luke came knocking on the door he had disappeared, not even bothering to dump the broken glass he swept up into the trash barrel. Well, bricks through the windows meant 'We'll be having some company and you're technically not supposed to be here', so she shouldn't have been surprised that Tate chose not to stick around for Luke's visit to the house the pretty much kept him employed. Vivien soon came back from her day out early, speeding into the driveway in a panic. Violet cursed her dismal luck. It was probably that psychotic burn victim who was screaming about a thousand dollars on Halloween. Apparently her father still hadn't given him a check if he was tossing bricks through her living room window. Between Tate leaving without a word and flying bricks, it was clear the world was lacking lessons in manners.

For now Violet had to spend some time alone until Tate decided to make his grand return, but she had no clue when that would be. She found time sans Tate difficult to enjoy, as every thought turned back to him and 'Jesus Christ playing polo, where'd you race off to you stupid ghost?' When Violet stuffed her face with left over Domino's pizza, she thought of Tate kissing her breasts, because for some reason pizza associated itself with boobs in her mind. When she smoked her nightly Marlboro, she found her fingers creeping under the waistband of her underpants, her mind of course imagining them to be Tate's. Reading Othello didn't help much either, as it just made her want to look up ways to say 'I want to fuck you' in Elizabethan English.

Violet had just gotten to the part where Othello cracks and smothers Desdemona to death in their wedding bed before they could even get it on when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

"Vi, it's me. Can I come in?"

Violet put the book down. "If it's more of Constance's cupcakes I'll pass…"

"I just want to talk to you."

Oh good, no overly purple baked goods courtesy of Ms. Langdon tonight.

"Yeah, come on in." She sat up against the pillows that still had Tate's smell all over them.

Vivien opened the door quietly, dressed in her night gown and silk bathrobe, clearly about to go to sleep. She gave her daughter a flash of a smile as she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How've you been feeling? I know you're still pretty upset over Addie."

Violet shrugged. "I'm okay I guess. People die all the time. It's not that big of a deal." 'Yeah but some of them like to stick around.' Dead high school kids with grudges over getting blasted in the faces, a dead school shooter who's getting counseling from her father and wanted to fuck her, creepy dead twins, an abortion doctor, _and_ psycho cult members who wanted to finish recreating a 40 year old murder? It was like an awful Halloween party in her house.

Vivien took a hold of Violet's hand. "You've been spending a lot of time cooped up in here. It's my job to be concerned for you. With all the death that's going around it's right for me to worry."

Well at least Vivien was still trying to give a fuck about her. Ben was too busy fucking college pussy and ruining his family to really care too much about his daughter.

"I'll be fine Mom."

Vivien hummed in response, obviously not believing Violet was as fine as she claimed to be, but said nothing and just re-crossed her legs. She took her hand away from Violet's, and her face turned serious. "By the way, I know Tate has been hanging around here."

Well shit. God, ghosts can't cover their asses well enough?

"Mom I-"

Her mother held up her hand. "Don't worry Vi, I'm not here to scold you." Violet looked at her mother with a mix of confusion and disbelief. She really wasn't going to give her the whole 'I'm your mother and what the fuck do you think you're doing' monologue?

"Your father's rules no longer apply as long as he's not living here and I'm the one running this house," Vivien looked down at her hands, which she folded in her lap. "I was 16 too once you know. I can tell Tate makes you happy, and I'd be a really lousy mother to keep you from being happy in the state this family is in right now."

With narrowed eyes, Violet watched closely as her mother reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled out a ribbon of small plastic squares. Oh Christ, she wasn't…

"Mom, seriously? Ugh…" She turned away, refusing to look at the trail of contraceptives. Yup, the passing of the torch. You're a woman now Violet. Here are some condoms, now go knock yourself out.

"Well I sure as hell am not using them. The last thing we need in this house is another mouth to feed." Violet shuttered. Her mom was seriously giving her condoms? There goes the Responsible Mother of the Year award. Winner of 2011, not Vivien Harmon.

The condoms were placed on the bedspread. Violet couldn't even stand to look at them. "Tate seems like an okay kid. I trust you to make the right decision Vi."

"Uh," Violet's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Thanks Mom."

With a quick kiss to her daughter's forehead, Vivien got up to leave Violet alone in the company of eight shiny new condoms.

"Hey Mom," She spoke up before Vivien turned to close the door. "How did you know? About Tate?"

"Mother's instinct. Night sweetie." A smile and she was gone.

As the door closed, Violet tried to get back to reading Othello, but those condoms just kept staring at her. They were trying to talk to her. "So we're gonna be strapped onto Tate's ghost dick and shoved into your vagina sometime in the near future? That's cool. So, how the book?"

She could only take it for about five minutes, in which no progress in reading was achieved. Now she was thinking contraceptives were attempting to start small talk? Between accepting her boyfriend had been dead for seventeen years and realizing that her house was home to more than just her family, Violet couldn't deal with any Adult Toy Story bullshit.

All she needed to do was clear her head, preferably before Tate came back and decided it was time for round two. There was nothing that a quick soak in the tub couldn't fix, even if the bathtub seemed to be the center of all the freaky shit that had been going on in the house. It was probably a portal to hell or something.

Violet made sure to lock the bathroom door this time, as it was a habit she really should have been establishing in a house of ghouls. She turned the water on, adjusting the knobs to get the water temperature she desired, threw in a sweet pea scented bath salt, docked her iPod into her speakers, and undressed as the tub filled itself up.

Normally she didn't bother to give her naked body a look over before she bathed, but this time she was compelled to do it, expecting to find a huge change in her appearance. Her breasts did feel a bit swollen from being in contact with Tate's teeth, but other than that she was the same old tiny tittied Violet. When she was younger she hoped she would inherit her mother's full pillowy breasts, but that obviously didn't happen. She came to realize that big tits were pretty overrated. The bigger the bust the less people noticed any meaningful attributes a woman had to offer. There were upsides to small boobs anyways. Bra shopping was easy and she didn't have back problems after running the mile in gym class. She could go braless and nobody would notice. Overall, membership to the Itty Bitty Titty Committee wasn't half bad.

After a couple more seconds of posing in the bathroom mirror she went over and turned the water off. She could hardly wait until she was able to immerse herself in hot water and just let go of thinking. All she did these days was think herself into a frenzy, mostly about sex and death. Sex had been on her mind ever since Tate came along, and death pretty much reeked from every corner of the house. Not to mention Tate was dead, which Violet was still having a difficult time trying to fully accept. Funny thing, the combination of sex and death, they were like the chocolate and peanut butter of life. They went well together. Sex creates life and death ends it, simple as that. As long as it wasn't sex with dead people, as that's when the combination becomes quite foul. Well, Violet doubted her relationship with Tate could be counted as necrophilia. After all, he was a quite lively ghost, not a rotting corpse. Had she really come to accept Tate Langdon was dead? It was so barbaric and ridiculous that it drove her crazy enough to swallow a bottle of prescription pills to try to make sense of it all. Violet still wasn't completely sold on the whole ghost thing, but she knew that the 'dead' conclusion was the only one that made any sense, even if it was completely illogical.

Violet got into the tub, cautious in case the water was too hot. Thankfully, it was the perfect temperature to warm her skin without causing any pesky burns. The bubbles were a nice touch as well, and the smell of sweet pea was delicious to her senses. Violet fully sunk into the water, immersing in the heat and giving into the sounds of languid guitar strokes and buzzy vocals courtesy of the grunge genre.

Letting her mind go proved harder than she thought however. Bathtubs were the perfect target for vulnerable murder victims or other creepy shit. Thanks a lot Psycho. She ended up thinking of Freddy Krueger's clawed hand swimming in between her legs, which convinced her to keep one eye open.

As Violet soaked in further, she found her hand suddenly caressing the inside of her thigh, imitating what Tate's hand had done earlier. Her other hand soon busied itself with brushing against the flatness of her stomach. She wanted to start touching herself, but decided against it as Tate would hopefully be back soon and it would be a real waste to use up a perfectly good orgasm before he had the chance to touch her again.

After a couple Sonic Youth songs had played out, Violet finally accepted that Freddy Krueger wasn't going to try to finger her and started to let the tension roll off her shoulders. With the paranoia dissipating, she convinced herself that a quick submerge in the bathwater wouldn't result in a gruesome death. Besides, her scalp was getting itchy from all the steam and heat. So Violet shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and sank into the water. It felt nice, her hair weightlessly drifting about as if she were a mermaid. When the desire to breathe again emerged, she resurfaced, wiping the water and soapy bubbles from her face before opening her eyes again.

When she did open them, her heart floored it against her ribcage. Bath water spilled over the edge of the tub as she flailed about in knee jerk panic, gasping as her heartbeat threatened to rip a hole through her chest. This fright however, quickly turned into annoyance as she realized it was only her ghoulish boyfriend standing quite contently by the bathroom door.

"Tate? What the fuck? Seriously?"

He was wearing that shit eating grin again, and if Violet hadn't been naked at the moment she would've given him a roundhouse kick to the face to get rid of it. Of course Tate chose to reappear when she was undressed and vulnerable. Fucking pervert.

Tate smugly shoved his hands into the pockets of his beaten up jeans. "You know, you should really start locking doors. Just a suggestion."

She did. But apparently the mechanics of locked doors were not ghost proof. Nor did ghosts seem to accept the notion of knocking on a door instead of simply barging in, locked on not. Ghost were pretty fucking rude she supposed.

"Will you get the hell out?" Violet was quick to throw a travel sized bottle of Dove shampoo at her asshole of a boyfriend, who only chuckled and shielded himself before it could walk him in the head. It fell at his feet with a disappointing 'bop'.

"I wanted to see you though," Tate said as he kicked the projectile shampoo to the other side of the bathroom. "Glad I chose not to wait in your room."

"Well it's nice that you decided to show up. Now would you kindly get the fuck out?" Violet groaned, ready to toss a travel sized bottle of conditioner at her crotch.

Of course, Tate didn't listen. Instead he walked closer to the bathtub with that 'Up to no good' look on his face. "Nah, I think I'll stay."

Violet gave him a look that would turn milk sour and reached up to grab the shower curtain, which she should've put to use in the first place. Tate of course, wasn't going to have it, and pulled it out of Violet's reach before she could get a grip on it. Dickhead.

"You're a real buttwipe aren't you?"

"You love me."

True. Beneath Violet's annoyance, she really just wanted to drag him into the tub and let him have his way with her. But Violet had too much pride to even address these thoughts. Oh, and sneaking into the bathroom to piss of his girlfriend was totally Tate A behavior, and it was too late at night to put up with that Tate. Stupid, sexy, psycho Tate.

Violet gave him the stare-down as he plopped himself by the edge of the tub. He was careful to sit on the bathmat and not in the pool of spilt water that was on the floor.

"Your tits look good in water by the way. Are you sure that water isn't cold?"

She looked down. Yup, there were her swollen breasts in clear view for Tate to get an eyeful of. The bubbles had depleted in abundance, leaving her exposed in the water. "Oh piss off." Violet splashed him in his stupid, smart-ass face and brought her knees to her chest to maintain some amount of decency.

Tate laughed. Violet was fun to tease because he could always get a rise out of her. It was good to see she was back to her old snarky self, and it was clear that she didn't actually want him to 'get the fuck out'. And now that he had finally seen what she kept hidden under all those baggy shirts, those tits were fair game to be a part of his fun. "What, you don't like me admiring them?"

"If that's your attempt to justify voyeurism and sweep me off my feet, you did a piss poor job of it." Violet rolled her eyes and placed her head against her knees.

"And just so you know, you don't have to keep sneaking around here anymore. My mom just re-granted you full access to the Murder House." It wasn't until after she said it that she realized just how ironic the statement was. Tate had always had access to the house because of the whole 'You're not technically alive and you're kind of stuck here for eternity' business. As much as she didn't want to keep thinking about all the ghost stuff, Violet couldn't help but wonder whether Tate even realized his surroundings were restricted to the Harmon property? For all she could guess from everything Constance enlightened her with, Tate was probably creating false memories of times spent away from Violet.

"Well that's great, but sneaking up on you turns me on to be honest." Tate stuck his hand into the bath, swishing the water around dangerously close to Violet's bare shoulder.

"Oh, how telling me you get off on acting like Michael Meyers sets my heart a flutter. You should go write a sonnet about it." She gave him her best 'And go shove it up your ass' smirk to cap off her little spiel.

"How'd you manage to get in the house this time anyways?" Violet shifted slightly to get the feeling back in her tailbone, careful to keep her legs against her chest. "My mom freaked out and decided to bolt the basement door shut after that maniac threw a brick through the window." The only reason she asked was that she wanted to know what type of answer she would get. Even if Tate didn't realize he was dead, wouldn't he be aware he was bypassing locked doors and security alarms? She really had to stop thinking about the whole physics surrounding ghosts or she was going to have a major migraine.

Tate leaned forward and rested his chin on the tub's porcelain edge, his eyes smiling up innocently at Violet. "I flew," His mouth curved into a grin. "Through the window."

Confusion set in once again. Was he being serious or mysterious? By the way he said it, Tate was probably just kidding, but the statement was eerily ironic. She cocked an eyebrow at him, letting him think that she thought he was full of horse shit. She'd let him have his fun this time.

Tate pulled his hand out from the water and brushed some clumps of wet hair from his girlfriend's face. "You want me to wash your back for you?"

An appealing suggestion, but the water was starting to lose its warmth and Violet's skin was getting chilled. "Nah, I should be getting out anyways."

Tate leaned in to kiss the back of Violet's exposed shoulder. "Maybe next time when I decide to join you." He gave her another quick kiss on the cheek and got up to sit on the toilet. She looked at him incredulously as he simply sat there and gesticulated for her to get out as she promised.

"What?"

"Tate, I'm not giving you a peep show. Turn around."

Tate crossed his arms like a stubborn little child. "What if I don't want to?"

What a brat. "Well then could you at least give me a fucking towel?" Violet pointed at the fluffy white towel hanging from the rack.

He didn't get up, only placed his hands on his knees and smirked like the Devil. "I didn't hear a 'please' anywhere in that sentence."

For fuck's sake. "Fine. Could you _please_ give me a fucking towel?" Now Violet was starting to get cold and angry.

"That's better." Tate finally got up and reached for the towel, placing it in the girl's outstretched arms. As he stood back with his hands fisted in his pockets, she gave him a smile as sweet as arsenic, a little wave, and pulled the shower curtain around the bathtub.

As Tate watched Violet's silhouette rise, he admired the figure he had desired to see clearly since his first session with Dr. Harmon. He noted the curve of Violet's stomach, the narrowing of her waist, and the swell of her small breasts. He liked to have imagined she gave him a sultry little wiggle as she wrapped the towel around her body, but he was kidding himself. He'd have her dancing for him soon enough though. There was a reason he came back after all.

Violet pulled the curtain back after unplugging the drain, stepping out onto the bathmat with a heavy sigh. Tate could smell the sweet pea bubble bath that had clung to her skin and hair as she walked past him to unplug the iPod from the speakers.

She tightened the towel against her chest, careful to avoid a 'lack of wardrobe' malfunction. "So you wanna go watch a movie or something? Beetlejuice is on Netflix and I can microwave some popco-HEY!"

Tate couldn't help himself anymore. He had had enough of Violet's subtle teasing and it was about time they finally address the elephant in the room. They both wanted to finish what had been so rudely interrupted earlier and he knew it. So he swung an unsuspecting Violet up into his arms and against his chest like a bride. Before she could put up any resistance or struggle against Tate's tight hold on her legs and shoulders, his lips were smashed against here. The exchange of a passionate kiss took place where breath was exchanged with exploring tongues.

Tate pulled back, smiling at the speechless look on poor Violet's face.

"What are you doing Tate?"

"Well, I went into your room before I decided to ruin you bath time fun and I saw some quite peculiar things on your bed…"

Her face went about seven shades of red. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and she ended up spluttering her words. "Jesus…Look my Mom decided to be a creep and give me them and…Ugh...Stop smiling!"

The smile didn't fade. Instead, Tate leaned into Violet's ear and whispered, "I want to make love to you Violet. Right now."

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Thanks for the reviews guys! You're all lovely! One more chapter to go and we'll be done here!

I know the whole 'bathroom' schtick has been overused already but its fan fiction, and fan fiction is nothing without fan service.

In the meantime, here's a list of songs I've used as this story's soundtrack:

**EIN**

Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana

Lights by Interpol

I, the Sun by Lights On

Climbing Up the Walls by Radiohead

**ZWEI**

Creep by Radiohead

Old Age by Hole

Spanish Sahara by Foals

Polly by Nirvana

**DREI**

#1 Crush by Garbage

Stridulum by Zola Jesus

Post Blue by Placebo

Eyes on Fire by Blue Foundation

**VIER**

Superstar by Sonic Youth

Glory Box by Portishead

URA Fever by The Kills

Fire In Cairo by The Cure

The fifth chapter will be out within the week, and I'm planning to put a little angst into it, as I have a pretty good interpretation of how sex with a ghost will go.


	5. FÜNF

**I was a heavy heart to carry  
>My beloved was weighed down<br>My arms around his neck  
>My fingers laced to crown<strong>

**I was a heavy heart to carry**  
><strong>But he never let me down<strong>  
><strong>When he had me in his arms<strong>  
><strong>My feet never touched the ground<strong>

**Florence + the Machine, 'Heavy In Your Arms'**

The gurgle of the drain was heavy in her ears as the still silence danced between them. Violet felt her breath catch in her throat and a sudden, overwhelming heat burn between her thighs. It was like a classic movie moment, the two lovers looking into each others eyes, the raw sexual tension finally reaching its crescendo in the quiet between them before the passionate kiss. Tate's eyes bore holes into hers and she could feel the reality of the situation dripping into her nerves.

Violet almost wanted him to repeat what he said, pretend she didn't hear it or didn't believe it, but the words were ringing in her head ever since they passed through his wonderful lips. He wanted to absorb her essence, become one with her, and prove his love to her. It was what her basic, animalistic instincts were crying out for, what her heart yearned for, and any logical thought was pushed aside in her brain.

"Tate…" What was there to say? Words failed her in this situation.

Tate held Violet closer, as close as he could without absorbing her. "Please Violet. I want to show you how much you mean to me."

Tate B was clearly acting as the man behind the curtain. Tate A was on standby, which he hated passionately, but that Tate knew handling virgins was his better half's business.

It was so ridiculously schmaltzy and goopy to the lovers, but it was the way it had to be done. They wanted to burst out laughing and go at it like two cats in heat but there was no room for mistakes to be made. And as Tate watched Violet nod and reach her arms up to latch around his neck, the heaviness of the moment finally sank into him. Every fantasy he had dreamt was about to become a possibility, and his spine tingled at the prospect.

As they left the bathroom and traveled down the hall, Tate's heartbeat pounded harder against his chest to the point that he wanted to ask Violet if it was hurting her. She bruises easy, the poor girl. How would she survive having his dick thrust into her? Virgins were tight and needed to be handled with care, like expensive china. He promised he would never hurt her, but virgins bled. Violet would bleed for him, tear for him, stretch beyond her limits to make room for him inside of her. A part of Tate found fascination in the prospect of blood dripping between her legs, and he had to swallow the urge back down. He'd restrain himself and avoid the sinful temptation of releasing all that raw sexual power into Violet at once, as it would surely drown her. He couldn't promise it wouldn't hurt, and it broke his heart that he even felt a shred of fascination in hurting her for the power of love. The irony sucked.

They were sure to keep quiet as Vivien was asleep just down the hall. However, as soon as the door to Violet's room was closed behind them, everything was fair game. Tate attacked Violet's mouth with his with hungry desire. The kiss was wet and needy, with tongues dragging across teeth and lips sucked and nursed. Their faces were hot and their breathing was languid as Tate brought her to the bed. Parting their lips was somewhat of a struggle, but Tate couldn't lie Violet down on the mattress if they were connected at the mouths, as he would sure stumble and drop her and thus ruin the smoothness the situation called for.

The towel loosened from its fold across Violet's chest as she was placed down on the bed, wanting to open like an oyster and display its pearl for others to envy. But that was Tate's job, and as he climbed on top of her he made sure to clutch the top edges of the white fabric to keep it from falling away before its time. Besides, there was something he wanted to try first.

Without a word, Tate lifted Violet's left arm, cradling it in his hand. There were so many scars. There were fresh ones that were still red and irritated. There were ones where blood had coagulated. There were others that were now silver stripes of tissue over the smooth skin. He felt a sharp pang in his heart, it hurt him to even look at all the damage she had done to herself. The day he had met Violet, caught her dragging that dreaded razor blade across her wrist, he wanted so badly to take her by the arm and tell her that he understood everything. Instead he just pulled a jerk off comment about how she was doing it wrong out of his ass, and the way she looked at her, like a starved animal interrupted during its meal, only served to heighten his interest. It was the moment he fell in love with her and the scars, all of her.

Violet watched as Tate grazed his finger tips across the healed over and abused flesh on her arm, somewhat disturbed but also curious to see where he was going with it. What she didn't expect was for him to whisper, "I'm sorry" and begin kissing her cuts. Her breath became stuck in her lungs and she looked on in awe at his careful ministrations. His lips were still chapped and dry, but soft and gentle as they traveled up and down her forearm. All the while he kept an eye on her face, taking note of the changes in her expression. At first she had questioned, then hesitated, and now she was fully relinquishing herself over to him. It felt nice to be cared about she supposed.

She's once again surprised by how warm Tate's skin felt against hers, which placed another point in the 'reconsider the whole dead thing' argument. Those were living, blood filled hands and lips that were caressing her sliced up arm. But he's finished with her arm now and gently places it back at her side like a beloved antique. She missed that closely concentrated heat already.

Tate moved to kiss and suck on Violet's neck, which she has so nicely presented to him. She tastes sweet and warm from the bath, and her skin smells so delectable that the sudden urge to sink his teeth into her crosses his mind. But he can't and he won't. He does, however, compromise and uses his teeth to nibble and roll the skin around in his mouth. Violet quietly gasps at the sensation and clutches at Tate's hair to keep him there.

When he was satisfied with the pretty rogue mark he created that marked her as his, he looked up at Violet once again, pleading with her because the time for the big reveal had finally come. Violet understood him and she felt the time as well. Her skin felt like it was burning, the heat around her was so oppressive and she needs him to remove the last layer or she'll have a stroke. The pride she held up so well in the bathroom was but a memory, as the heart had finally stolen the controls from the brain. Violet nods and Tate's eyes light up like retro Christmas lights. He was quick at removing the offending article, and as soon as he threw it across the room he wasted no time in sitting up to admire the nude body laid out for him.

So this was what she kept hidden underneath all that too big clothing? There were the breasts, still just as wonderful and compact as they were earlier. There was the soft stomach and the curves leading to her hips. From hip bones on however, everything was new and even better than what he had seen already. Even with Violet's legs kept close together, he could see the tuck of skin that lead to her most intimate area, which to no surprise to him, was cleanly shaven. He glided a hand down to a now bare thigh as he admired the special sight. Violet caught him looking, her face heating up with a blush, which she slaps a hand over to hide. She didn't blush and she wasn't about to allow for it now, like she was some pure white Princess with Daddy issues. Ok, the Daddy issues were there but she would knock the teeth out of whoever had the audacity to call her 'Princess'.

Violet removed her hand from her face when she felt Tate's mouth latch onto her breast again, but this time the sensation was accompanied by a hand ghosting closely to where she wanted him the most. It was so wet and hot there, and she just couldn't hold her legs together anymore. The muscles in her thighs laxed and she opened herself to him in a quiet plea for him to touch her. But Tate was too happy to be playing with her breasts with his mouth and his other hand. He wanted to tease her a little more, and the ghost hand made moves to touch cunt, only to pull back with a childish laugh.

"Tate, I swear to God…" Violet wasn't going to have the bullshit tonight. She wanted to be satisfied immediately and Tate's clowning around was so not going to fly.

In Violet speak, she meant 'Please Tate, oh please play with my pussy' which was the green light he needed for his hand to place itself on her hot mound. Virgins did get wet easily, but he clearly underestimated it. He looked back up at Violet, who was breathing like she had just learned to fill her lungs with air. "Fuck Violet, fuck."

Then Violet bucked up into him, trying to get his fingers to do something and she needed to feel pressure. By God, if she had to do it herself there will be hell to pay.

Thankfully Tate got it and his fingers began to explore. Aside from her cunt being wet, she was also hot and soft in his hand. His thumb lightly grazed over a raised nub, eliciting an "Oh fuck" and an arching back off the bed. Clearly, it was a pleasurable sensation Violet had just experienced, and Tate set to work at rubbing a steady rhythm onto her clit. Meanwhile his fingers drifted to find the entrance, and when he finally found it he traced a finger lightly around the source of all the wetness and heat, the place he would be burying his dick into before the night died away.

There was something he had to ask. "Have you ever stuck your fingers up here?" He asked the question with a mask of childlike wonderment, hiding the desire to get his cock to twitch again.

Violet sucked in another deep breath. Of course he would ask her something so blunt that he could possibly be convicted with assault for it. But the heart, not the brain, was in control. "Maybe once or twice…I don't know…it feels weird when I do it…Tate for fuck's sake..."

"You're gonna be tight Violet. Allow me to make some room in there..." It's such a vulgar thing to say but there's no other way he can put it. Besides, his fingers desperately wanted to be buried in that hot, wet cavern.

Before Violet could even form what she wants to say to _that _Tate had slipped down between her legs. Those long limbs were then hoisted over his shoulders, causing her to splutter out a variety of profanities and insults. Heat rose into her cheeks from the raw sense of exposure that came with being spread wide for hungry eyes to admire. Her nerves burned as she watched him stare at her pussy, and Jesus butt-fucking Christ he's cocking his head at it like some confusing Modernist painting.

"Ugh Tate, stop looking at it like that!" No, that surely wasn't right. Had Tate Langdon just winked at her? If her body wasn't so hot and heavy at the moment she would've launched a pillow at his face.

There's a kiss to her bent knee and then a finger is inside of her. Violet squirmed at the new sensation, but it definitely felt better than when she tried doing it to herself. And by the way Tate's face changed, the feeling around his finger was definitely interesting him rather than grossing him out. At first, he wiggled his finger a bit and felt along the spongy walls, but that clearly wasn't getting him the reaction he wanted. Then he began pumping in and out, which was so easy because she was just so fucking wet. And God it's such a pleasant new feeling that feels like a slow burn. Meanwhile, Tate's other hand revived its use and started to rub delicious circles of pressure around her clit, resulting in more of those little hums of pleasure from her throat that sounded like music box melodies. And oh, she's constricting his finger and sucking him in but he would loosen her up real nice and good.

Once the tightness begins to lessen his middle finger starts to creep in. It finally slides in to join its well accustomed partner and Violet's voice breaks slightly. Tate pauses and looks up at her face. She's biting her lip to keep from making too much noise and her body is taut with tension.

"You gotta relax for me. You're so fucking tight Violet."

She nods and releases the stiff hold of her muscles so he can finish sliding in the second finger. The pumping and the rubbing are delicious and her legs bounce with the rhythm of his fingers. How many times had she laid in bed with a cigarette and found herself thinking of this? Too many, but now that it was happening it was a completely foreign experience. But her body was so swimmingly on fire and Tate was applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit that she wanted more. Then there's a third finger and she stiffens again because it's a lot. Thankfully she's so goddamn wet and wide open for him that her hole accepts to new recruit without much resistance. Violet realized she hasn't looked at Tate for awhile, rather at her ceiling without much intention. When she casts her eyes back at him, he's smirking and resting his head on her knee, all too happy about the way she's convulsing and twitching and clenching around his fingers.

"Feeling good?" Stating the obvious ladies and gentlemen is Tate A. Hi, how are you?

Violet can't say anything because her mouth is too lax to even attempt to shape itself for vowels and consonants. All she can do is make a noise in the back of her throat and continue to buck her hips into his hands.

Then, she's empty again. It's terrible, so fucking terrible. The fingers are gone and the pressure has left to attend to other matters. "_Taaaaate_…" Did she really just whine? That sounded an awful lot like a whine. Violet Harmon just whined because Tate Langdon stopped playing with her cunt. For the love of all things big and small, what the fuck?

He hated to make her wait, but he couldn't have her coming before the main course. Her eyes were shiny and her breasts moved along with every deep breath she took. The sight was so fucking great that his cock started to scream at him. It wanted out now. No, no waiting. Now. It was just damn painful to keep it locked away, all stiff and hard with blood.

Tate moved up to steal a quick kiss from her hot lips before leaning back to work on his pants. Who the fuck needed clothes? Jesus, he was stifling. Why had he worn so many layers? Why are there buttons and zippers on jeans? Too much work for his fingers. Hurry up Tate. And the pants are off! He threw them across the room to join the bath towel where they could start a conversation together on the floor and maybe fall in love. Violet guessed Tate was a boxers kind of guy, but those tented navy blue briefs proved her assumption false. There was dark spot where precum had latched onto the fabric and soaked through to announce its presence. Then Violet took another look at Tate's straining cock in the confines. Shit, that looked big. Fuck, it was going to hurt but stopping now would surely kill her faster than his cock tearing her insides apart.

There was a moment of stillness in the moment before his fingers latched around the waistband of his underpants. Exposure of the body was like ripping a band-aid off; the anxiety before you even tore the thing off your skin was more excruciating than the split second sting of flesh parting from tape. Not that Tate was nervous or anything about whipping it out, it was just that a man's pride lies in their manhood, and the mood for the rest of the night depend upon whether she gazed up at him in awe of his cock or gave a sinister laugh. Three, two, one, down.

Violet had seen pictures and diagrams, but not the real thing until just that moment. From what research had showed her, most dicks were just shriveled up, discolored pork swords. Relief washed over her when she saw that not only was his cock not rotting away but that it was actually pretty…cute? A nice cut length of smooth, hot flesh that was all too happy to see her as made clear by the glistening wetness at the head. Not shaven, but blonde wisps of hair were kept trimmed close to the base. There was nothing to worry about besides the fact that she had never stuck anything even close to that size into her in her life. No fugly decaying penis to prod around in her like in some video nasty gore fest.

Tate took a moment to look down at his straining length and then back to Violet's hazy eyes. She was soaking the sight in, absorbing it into her memory for future nights when she was alone with her hand and a burning cigarette when he couldn't be there to help. He cracked a small smile in appreciation of her kind eyes. But his shirt was still on, and his chest was stifling under the layers of tee and flannel that he had thrown on that morning. He was quick to shed the over-shirt of green plaid that smelled like sandalwood, smoke, and teen angst. That was thrown to the clothing orgy on the floor.

They were so close and the air smelled like warmth and pent up sexual energy. Violet locked eyes with Tate as he gripped the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head and throw it off the floor. Nothing to worry about, no surprises, nothing out of the ordinary would occur when he was finally finished stripping himself of the last boundary that stood between them and full skin to skin contact.

Oh how naïve she was.

Instead, as Tate slid the bunched up tee shirt up over his chest, Violet's heart went still. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't scream, she couldn't speak. Her body simply went limp with fear and putrid sickness at the sight before her.

Tate's chest was riddled with bullet holes, so deep and gaping that she could only see the silhouettes of ripped flesh descending into the darkness of his insides. No blood dripped from the horrendous punctures, for it was all coagulated around the edges of each wound. The skin around each gaping opening where ammunition had pierced through was translucent and ashen with death, showing off the black veins that stretched across his breast in wiry tangles.

At first, Violet tried to convince herself she was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, but Tate's fingers gliding over her bare hips and the feel of air to naked skin were too well detailed to be fabricated by thought. So she blinked once, twice, three, four times in desperation to rid the horrific sight from her vision. But it wouldn't go away. The chest of an embalmed corpse attached to the boy who was about to receive her virtue stayed planted in cold reality. Violet couldn't say anything. What was there to say? The final proof that Tate Langdon was indeed a ghost was so gut wrenchingly brutal that she felt as if she were drowning. Stare was all she could do, stare and drown.

As Tate turned back from tossing the shirt onto the floor and looked at Violet, his heart sank as he saw the expression of fear cemented onto her face. She wasn't looking at him, specifically his face, but between his nipples with such a look of fright that it seemed unreal. He looked down at that dead, holey chest of his and then back to Violet's frozen face, a quizzical look arresting his features. "Violet, what's wrong?"

The second the words left his mouth, Violet realized he hadn't looked down at the same chest she was staring so horrified at. He couldn't see his chest was littered with bullet holes. He didn't see the deep punctures, the coagulated blood, the dead skin, or the black veins. They didn't exist to him because he didn't know he was dead. In his head he was alive and perfect, not dead and full of seventeen year old holes. Tate had seen smooth, unblemished skin between his pectorals, not the calling card wounds of a SWAT raid. Her heart sank into an abyss. He was wearing the same expression of ignorance as he wore on Halloween when his undead victims had come back, demanding an explanation for the bullets through their skulls. He really didn't know he had been long dead for almost two decades. All there was to him was their naked bodies, nothing more, nothing less.

The flurry of thoughts shut down her senses for a moment, and she only realized Tate was in a complete panic when he began shaking her against his tragic chest.

"Violet! Violet what's wrong? Please tell me what's wrong!"

Thank fast. Don't think about your breasts up against that dead abdomen. Don't think about your nipples in those terrible mouth like holes.

"I'm fine Tate. I just lost my mind for a moment." Violet brought her hands up so she could lightly hold into his shoulders, which were warm, unlike the cold skin her breasts were up against.

Tate began to pet her blonde hair in quick but gentle strokes. "Are you sure? You look freaked out. Do you want to stop?"

Stop now? It was impossible to stop here. The heat and wetness between her legs was too oppressive to ignore and only Tate could remedy those feelings. He and that awful corpse chest would have to finish what they started. She just felt heavy.

"No, keep going. I'm fine, I swear. I trust you." Violet did trust Tate, no matter how dead he was, and that wasn't going to change. Alive or not, he had proven his worth the moment she awoke to find his fingers jammed down her throat to make her throw up all those pills she swallowed. If giving her virginity to his ghost was the ultimate way to prove her love to him then she would do it.

Tate pulled her away from his chest, which Violet refused to look down at. His face was soft and his eyes were brimmed with genuine concern. "Just tell me if you want to stop Violet. I promised I would never hurt you and I would never forgive myself if I did."

She silently nodded as he laid her back against the pillows, trying hard to clear her mind as Tate reached for one of the condoms that laid by her leg. Her eyes directed themselves back to the ceiling to avoid coming into contact with all those bullet holes again. The sound of a wrapper tearing hit her ears and she realized the moment was serious business and not just some lighthearted teenage milestone.

Tate had tried on a few condoms before when he was a Freshman, and the practice finally proved to be useful as he squeezed the tip and rolled it on with ease. Good, it was lubricated. His cock would need all the help it could get tonight if he wanted to successfully fuck Violet's virginity away without too much pain. He looked back down at Violet. She was staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable look in her eyes. It worried him, but at the same time he felt an aura of calmness. She wasn't judging or apprehensive. Her legs were spread wide for him and only him. The time had come.

He leaned back in to cover Violet with his body, resting his head against her shoulder and burying his nose in her wheat colored locks, his hot breath tickling her neck. "Are you ready?"

There were her eyes again to meet his. Violet released the deep breath she had kept in her lungs like a good high and threaded a hand back into Tate's soft hair. For that moment there were no ghosts, no embalmed chests, no bottles of pills, no bricks through the window, no cheating spouses or dead babies. It was just the two of them.

She nodded and let a 'yeah' slip from her lips. Tate pressed his lips to her neck again and trailed down her collar bone and past her right breast, giving a nipple a quick suck before sitting back up to align his length to her hole.

They kept their eyes fixated on each other in the moments leading up to it. Tate braced his hands onto Violet's hips and sighed. "I'll go slow. Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

She nodded and took a deep breath as his cock touched her slick opening. Just suck in some air and push it out. Easy.

The moment he pushed the head in, Violet felt tightness. No resistance, no pain, just discomfort as he was definitely bigger than any tampon.

"Fuck Violet, you're fucking tight. Ah." Tate was slow, pushing in slowly inch by inch and careful to watch for any signs of pain. But God it was so hot and wet, and the pressure around his cock was so perfect that it was becoming hard not to give into savage desires and pound into her body without control. She was squeezing him wonderfully and he had to bite his lip to the point that he tasted blood.

Then, room had to be made. As Tate achieved three fourths of inserted cock, Violet felt herself tear. Her hymen had stretched and finally ripped from the swell of his cock. Her hand shot up to muffle a scream between gritted teeth. The pain was so red hot that her eyes squeezed tight. Blood trickled from the wound down the inside of her thigh and fuck it hurt.

Tate was there in a second, stopping and leaning in to wrap his arms around Violet. He had done it, he had torn her. The smell of blood invaded his senses and filtered around in his brain. The demons were back and they desired a taste of that virgin blood to keep them alive. They wanted him to fuck her deeply and then lick the blood from between her legs, then devour her pussy for a fulfilling meal. But Tate beat them down, beat them down until they were nothing but a hum in his ears.

His lips kissed her scrunched up face, soothing the tears that had escaped her tightly closed eyes and her stiffly clenched mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeated it like a mantra between each kiss. Virgins tore and bled, resulting in pain, pain that he had caused although he had tried so hard to prevent it. She was trembling and her fingernails were digging holes into the backs of his shoulders.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity until the pain had dulled to a bearable throbbing. Violet's breathing returned to normal as she felt the thickness and heat from Tate's cock putting a hard pressure against her once virginal walls. A deep breath was released and her nails stopped tearing into his skin. "Move Tate."

But she still had her eyes closed. The tension had left but the lids were still shut. He couldn't do it, not without Violet's eyes.

"No Violet. No, not until you look at me. I need you to look at me Violet. Please look at me."

But she was afraid. What if when she opened her eyes it wasn't Tate, but some rotting corpse or incubus violating her? What if that dead chest had spread and now Tate's beautiful face was covered with bullet holes so deep she could see his brain? What would she do then?

But she felt warmth. Every inch of her body was covered with warmth. There was no coldness and no foreign feelings. Be brave Violet, open your eyes.

There was Tate, his eyes wide and filled with pain for hurting her. His palm rested against her cheek and he was so warm and alive for something so dead. "I'm going to make you feel so good Violet, I promise."

There was a passionate kiss. So many feelings and so many issues, but it was just them again. It always came down to the both of them.

Lips parted once again and Violet watched carefully as Tate leaned back to look at his cock's positioning and the damage he had caused.

As Tate commented about the blood, Violet's heart stopped again. But this time, it was not out of fear.

Tate's chest was alive and bare of bullet holes. No translucent skin, no black veins, no coagulated blood, not dark insides; just pale, smooth, healthy skin. Was Violet growing crazy? Were here eyes playing more tricks on here? What was real and what was fantasy? Her hand moved to place itself between his pectorals. There was warmth and the steady beating of a living heart against her spread palm.

Tate looked down, his expression of sadness at the blood that he spilt turning into a loving smile as he saw the hand place over his heart and Violet's upturned, beautiful mouth. The world brightened from the feeling of that small hand and he felt an overwhelming sense of goodness. The demonic hums in his ear had stopped and Tate A and B were quiet. He was just Tate Langdon, a not so normal boy about to make love to a beautiful girl.

He held that hand against him for another moment before deciding it was time to finally get to it. Hands grasped hips once again and deep breaths were inhaled as he moved to pull out.

Violet gasped as his hot cock slid out, feeling only a slight tinge of discomfort and pain but such a wonderful pressure that hit all the right spots. Then Tate was sliding back in again, sliding in deeper and it felt more nice than not. She was lucky she supposed, some girls felt nothing but pain the first few times they had sex, but Violet had gotten it out in one tear of the hymen.

Tate was in a state of bliss, careful to keep focused and not cum before Violet as he began to pump in and out. "Oh God Violet you feel so good around my cock. Ah, so hot." The words came out sounding parched and clenched in his vocal chords, but who cared? The pace began to pick up as Violet began to respond more favorably. She placed her knuckled between her teeth and bit down to keep from moaning too loud at the wonderful new sensation of Tate's cock fucking her cunt. Vivien didn't need to know she was already putting those condoms to use.

"No, I want to hear you moan for me. Don't keep yourself quiet if it feels good." Tate grasped her wrist and pulled it from her mouth as he leaned in to share another passionate kiss. Violet obeyed and turned to releasing her moans into the cavern of his mouth, which he gladly swallowed up.

As the moans increased and Violet began to shake and buck up to meet his slow thrusts, Tate began to fully realize the wonder of the situation, and mischief flashed across his youthful face. Violet wanted more and he was the only one who could give it to her. He moved down to nibble at her neck, deciding she wasn't marked enough because such beautiful white skin should be taken advantage of.

"One of these days Violet I'm going to fuck you all over this house," He laughed sinisterly and Violet whined in response. He was teasing her again not only with words but with movement. He was slow and she was going to lose it if he didn't build up to an orgasm. There was a particularly hard bite to the top of her tit and she groaned. "I'm going to make a mess of you Violet. I'm going to possess you and devour you but all you'll want is more. I'm going to be gentle with you this time but after this you're going to be at my mercy." His voice wasn't cold or teasing, but full of love despite the perverted statements.

"Tate, come on…"

He chuckled and teased a nipple with his tongue. "Hmm?"

Dickhead, dickhead, dickhead. "Tate hurry up and just fuck me like you don't have a broken hip."

Still snarky even with his cock shoved into her cunt. Naughty girl. "You'll have to ask nicer than that Violet or else I'm going to take my sweet ass time with your pussy."

Violet groaned and tried to buck harder into Tate's snail paced thrusts. He wasn't having it though and he kept her planted to the mattress, much to her extreme frustration. She wanted to throw a tantrum, but she was sixteen, not six. And fuck that hot cock had all but taken away her steel backbone.

"Please go faster Tate, please."

A green light courtesy of Violet Harmon. And Tate was all but happy to oblige with increasing the pace of thrusts, as his orgasm was building and the coil in his stomach needed to come undone or he'd have blue balls. Violet was in a similar situation. She gave a pleased sigh of relief as his dick thrust in faster and deeper.

Within a few more thrusts that cock hit her in just the right spot and she saw galaxies before her eyes. The pleasure was so red hot that her moans came out wispy and strangled. Taking the reaction as 'I think I found a way to make you come before I do' clue, Tate aimed all of his thrusts at that particular spot. He had to plant his lips against Violet's mouth to keep her from screaming loud enough to wake the whole God damn neighborhood. Constance would be pissed off if she learned he was finally giving it to Violet, and not like all those meaningless fucks she gave men all the time. He was doing it right.

As the minutes increased and the thrusts became faster, Violet's orgasm neared its forte. It was so damn close and Tate was just so good with that cock and those filthy little words he whispered in her ear. What luck that on her first try he was successfully going to make her cum? The coil in her stomach tightened and tightened until she was teetering on the edge.

"Do have to cum Violet?" Tate said, his words punctuated with a deep thrust and a grunt as the clenching and pulling around his cock was so fucking blissful. "Tell me you have to cum and I'll make you cum Violet."

She was almost there. So close. "P-please Taaaa-te. I h-have to cuuuum."

The thrusts became harder and quicker. "Cum for me Violet."

With a shaky, strangled gasp and the tightening of hips, Violet came hard and hot, spasming around Tate's cock like an animal twitching with death. Her body went taut to prolong the blissful feeling that melted her muscles and deafened her senses so all she could feel was the powerful heat spreading throughout her body like the sun. Life and death didn't exist on this plane of pleasure, and for a fraction of a second Violet had seen God. When the feeling had dissolved back into a dull throb her body went limp on the bed with exhaustion.

The orgasm was so powerful, squeezing him so tightly that his own orgasm depended on several more thrusts into the hot cavern. He sang her name like a paean as he fell off the edge and into the brilliant feeling of his climax, milking his cock for all it was worth as he grunted out his orgasm. The moment completed, Tate fell satisfied into Violet's tired body, warm and tired. His cock shrunk out of its hardness but the heat of her sex was so good and wet that he didn't want to pull out just yet. They merely lay there in the perfect afterglow of their first time.

The next couple of minutes were quiet aside from the sounds of their languid breathing and beating hearts. When coldness finally began to creep over their naked skin, Tate pulled out and rolled off of Violet to tug the covers up and over them, an awkward grunt coming from both of their throats as neither had wanted to part from the other. Violet smiled as he pulled her close to his chest, which was still alive and beautiful for they had become one being that day. His soul had shined through and he would stay that way for as long as she would love him. Of course, neither knew that. With a quick mutter of 'Ew', he unrolled the condom and tossed it into the garbage pail. Violet told him that the cum bag better be fished out in morning or else.

Tate planted a soft kiss to her crown as she snuggled in closure to his warm skin to hear the wonderful beating of his heart. "Hey Violet?"

"Yeah?"

His fingertips lightly stroked the soft skin where neck met shoulder. "I love you."

Violet was tired. Her eyes wanted nothing more than to close so she could fade away into the darkness of sleep wrapped in Tate's warm arms. "I love you too." She thought she would be the type to reach for a cigarette after a good fuck, but yet again, experience proved her wrong.

Violet thought for a second. The lingering question crossed her mind once again. There was no way she was going to ruin the moment and inquire about the whole 'So are you dead or what?' issue. That would be like dropping a grand piano on a group of preschoolers. Not good. They were fine right where they were. As long as Tate was happy, there was no reason to spoil the moment. The thought went off down the road of her brain to hitch a ride to some distant town and start anew with a new name. It would never be gone forever, which she knew, since Constance was still vying for getting her to help Tate cross over. To where, she wondered? And why when he was quite content to being a ghost without actually being a ghost?

Then the question of selling the house entered her mind. Now that she knew the truth behind the Tiffany windows, the creepy old basement that went bump in the night, and the boy who was holding her close and dear in his arms, she couldn't really blame anyone for wanted to leave this house behind and forget about it. However, through all the death and destruction that painted the walls of the house, Violet felt a ray of goodness in the heart of it all. The house came with Tate Langdon, so they were an exclusive deal as he was a permanent resident. There was no way in hell she could leave him or the house behind. It was filled with lost souls of murder victims and murderers but in the end, they were lost in the confusion of evil. Tate was the sparkling gem in the sea of darkness, a boy with so much potential in life who had been driven mad by the evil of the house and committed an unspeakable crime. In death, he was reborn back into an ignorant childlike wonder, ball and chained to the house for the remainder of time. He wasn't going anywhere and neither would she.

"Hey Tate?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not going to let my parents sell this house if it's the last thing I do."

Violet's eyes were heavy and her mind was finally settling down. She felt soreness between her legs, and it would surely be more profound in the morning to the point that she'd end up walking around the house like the fucking Tin Man in need of the oil can. There was probably a big old spot of blood on her sheets, the XOXO of the swiping of the V-card. She'd worry about it in the morning.

Tate nuzzled into Violet's hair, feeling her body grow heavier and heavier with the desire to sleep. Never in his life had he felt so understood and so important. Violet was his life now and the thought of parting from her was unbearable to comprehend. He would never let her disappear or stray from him again. He should get her to stop cutting. She could cut him if that helped, he would do anything for her, absolutely anything. Violet Harmon was a special soul that had reached out and grabbed him by the hand. The world may be a fucking lousy place most of the time, full of death, greed, and destruction, but Violet was like a single flower growing in a mass grave. She was living amongst a sea of death and he to embody that more than anything on Earth. And now Violet was a part of him. She had seeped into his bones and made herself comfortable. He had possessed her entire existence and would live and breathe for her. They were one being now.

Romeo couldn't live without his Juliet, Sid couldn't live without his Nancy, and Tate Langdon certainly couldn't live without his Violet Harmon.

"Hey Violet?"

"Hmm?" She was quickly losing consciousness.

"Can I keep you?"

"Mmhmm."

All was well.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

OH GOD IT'S DONE HOLY SHIT. OVER 7,000 WORDS OW MY FINGERS.

Here's the playlist for FÜNF:

**Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon by Urge Overkill**

**Heavy In Your Arms by Florence + the Machine**

**Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley**

**Creep by Scala (Radiohead cover)**

I like to think of this story as my love letter to romance. If you're like me, you'll have caught the reference to _Let the Right One In_ in VIER:

_Tate leaned forward and rested his chin on the tub's porcelain edge, his eyes smiling up innocently at Violet. "**I flew,**" His mouth curved into a grin. "Through the window."_

And in this chapter, which I made too obvious, I threw in a little _Casper_ appreciation.

Thank you guys SO much for actually taking the time to read this and review it. I didn't think it would get popular to be honest cause I have shit self esteem. Following this I plan on doing some one shots and work with other fandoms like Hetalia and Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Originally I was gonna give this a bit of a downer ending, with Tate returning back to his 'fucked up bullet holed' chest, but I'm a sucker for happy endings.

Thanks again guys! You're all lovelies!

- Nicole


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